Moment
by Spanish.Tomato13
Summary: Seeing him up on that stage is the only time he is not my Spaniard. He's beautiful, but untouchable... AU
1. Arthur

AN/ Hey guys, long time no post! Hahaha... so, yeah, about that "gee I hope 2012 will be better than 2011" thing. Has not been the case so far. BUT! I'm still alive. And that's what matters. Or so I keep telling myself. ANYWAY, this came to me while I was watching SNL this past Saturday- or more specifically, the musical guest. I have no idea who he was, but there was one point when the main singer went back to sing at the same mic as his back-up singer, and the idea just popped into my head. I am honestly thrilled with how this turned out- and, as I seem to always do, a mini-universe has developed because there's so much other stuff that is going on in the background. So, you may or may not see more from this AU- but it won't be for a while. I'm still trying to work through the 2nd chapter for Absence, which is not cooperating with me even though I know what I want to do, and I have a few other ideas floating around in my head. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things and write more, even though I just started a new job at Hallmark. Hahaha... Please read and review! Enjoy!

I do not own Hetalia or its characters (as so many others have said, if I did, there would be a lot more Spamano. Even though it's totally already canon. Hello.)

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><p>Moment<p>

I lose myself in this moment every time. In the dangerous light in his impossibly green eyes, in the way that we are both so close to the microphone between us that our noses nearly touch, in the way that his rich, sultry voice entwines with my rougher one during the chorus. I break away to return to my own mic, my eyes snagging briefly on his slender fingers stroking artfully over his guitar, producing harshly melodious sounds that inspire our songs. Images rise, uninvited, of those same hands creating music with-on-in my body, but the roar of the crowd as the song closes reminds me that I have to focus- now is not the time for such thoughts, only half-way through our Friday night set. So I shake my self internally, shoot our audience my trademark smirk and slam into our next song.

_-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-_

I'm half-blind in the darkness of the wings as we stumble off the brightly-lit stage, the crowd still screaming after our encore, and let the sound of our crew applauding and cheering loudly guide my steps, my guitar held close to my body to avoid collisions. I hear our drummer cackling somewhere off to my left, most likely having just tackled his petite, blond boyfriend; although I can't immediately hear our bassist, I'm sure he's already off seducing a few of our groupies into his room; and our main guitarist...

"Great show, eh amigo?" Our main guitarist is no more than three inches from my ear, his breath hot as it brushes my throat and his Spanish accent sending my mind south very quickly. I jump out of my skin, nearly dropping my guitar, and spin around to give him a furious glare, all the while trying to ignore the things his warm laughter does to my body.

"Bloody git, how many times do I have to tell you to not sneak up behind me? And yes, I feel that the show went excellently. Although Gilbert needs to learn that he can't suddenly up the tempo in the middle of a song, no matter how well we recover from it..." The drummer in question groans from beside us, and my eyes have adjusted enough by this point to see him roll his bright ruby eyes, his arms looped, as expected, around his quiet Canadian-boyfriend-who's-name-I-never-remember's waist.

"Oh piss off, ya damn Brit- I've been doing that one for weeks during rehearsal, which you would know if you had actually been paying attention." His words are far too pointed to be comfortable; I glare daggers at him for a moment before turning and pulling the slightly distracted Spaniard with me toward the dressing rooms.

"Anyway, I have a few things I want to discuss with you about tomorrow's show, and-" The rest of my sentence is drowned out by a loud, accented slew of cursing. The guitarist -who had been trailing after me obediently until that point- perks immediately, jerking to a stop and spinning around.

"Lovino! You made it!" I watch helplessly as he skips away from me and over to the Italian, scooping him up in spite of his protests and swinging him around gleefully.

"Gah! Antonio, you bastardo, put me down before I kick you in the balls!" Antonio obeys quickly, but not without landing a brief, deep kiss that I can see leaves both of them breathless. Even in the semi-darkness of the backstage, Lovino's cheeks are glowing a bright red and a tiny smile is visible on his face in response to the wide beam on his lover's. "Of course I came, you damn idiota. As if I would miss one of your concerts when you're in town... Er, I-I mean, Matt was going to drag me anyways, so I figured I'd save him the trouble..."

I turn away before I can see the Spaniard lean down again, but I can hear the soft, pleased gasp as I walk away unnoticed, their affectionate murmurs haunting me as I slam the door to the dressing room behind me. "God dammit..." I slide down the door slowly, one leg splaying out in front of me while I rest my forehead against the other, racking my fingers through my sweat-drenched hair in frustration.

"You need to get over him, mon ami." I jump again, my head jerking up in surprise to stare at our French bassist where he's sprawled across the settee, his pants riding low on his hips, his shirt mostly undone, and a cigarette dangling delicately from his fingers. He arches an elegant blond eyebrow at me, cool blue eyes looking me over before waving a small, familiar box at me. "You look like you need a smoke. Come, sit with Francis and tell him what happened this time, Artie." He pats the small area on the couch in the space where his body bends to fit, a small smirk playing on his lips. I roll my eyes, but stand up and shuffle over anyway. Sitting on the edge of the cushion, I steal his lit cigarette out of his hand and take a deep drag.

"What I need is a stiff drink and a couple sleeping pills." Francis murmurs sympathetically, his hands sneaking along my sides. I rub the bridge of my nose as a headache begins to set in, not having the energy to fight as he slides his arms around my stomach and shoulders to pull me back into his chest.

"I could do you one better, if you'd like, Arthur~" His voice, while more sultry than I've ever heard from Antonio, is dull and colorless compared to the one I hear every night in my dreams. I lean further into him anyway, my head rolling back onto the tall back of the couch as he begins working at my neck with teeth and tongue, his fingers skillfully ridding me of my shirt.

"Just make me forget, you damn frog. That's all I want." He's silent for a moment, all movement stilling, before he lets out a breath, nodding slowly.

"As you wish, mon cheri. Just relax..." And I let myself get lost in a different moment entirely, Antonio's name bitter on the back of my tongue.

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><p>AN Wow, I think this is going to be my first non-happy-ending story I've ever posted. I'm so proud of myself~! Lol... Please let me know what you think!

As always, with love,

~Spain


	2. Lovino

AN/ I'M ALIIIIIIIVE! *dances* So, what you've missed in the life of Spain- I started a Spain page on Failbook (Antonio Fernández Carriedo (Spain / APH)- yes, shameless plug! eue), I joined a Failbook Pottermore Sorority, finished my first year of college, did much confused flailing at work, went up-north twice, ripped down wallpaper from my bathroom (DEVIL MAGIC, I TELL YOU!), and other such fun stuff. Oh, and some writing. Yes. Which is why we are here, right now! Posting this next chapter! As I mentioned on my profile, I have a pretty good idea about the closing chapter, and have already started writing a little omake- you'll know what I'm talking about when you get to it, because the mental image is just too amazing to not write. XD Also, I have most of the next chapter of 'Absence' written AND have more of the poem for The Secret of Us written, so that may be updated before summer's over, hahaha.

SIDE NOTE: I will begin posting some of my old stories, from other series. So don't get super excited when you see I've updated, unless you like Ouran High School Host Club or DNAngel. Because I spent more time in those fandoms, I have a LOT more stories over there than I do for Hetalia. hopefully that will start changing, but in the mean time, you get lots of random stuff from other places!

ANOTHER NOTE, RELATED TO LAST CHAPTER: I had someone (my most amazing eWife, lovejonesy~) point out that she didn't know that last chapter was from Arthur's point of view until he spoke. THIS WAS INTENTIONAL! (I know, I'm so proud of myself! XD) I was going to try and have it last until Lovino suddenly popped up, but Artie demanded to be acknowledged. ._. So yes. That's where that stood.

Goodness, long AN is long. PLEASE READ THE CHAPTER, I'M SO SORRY, IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE READS AUTHOR'S NOTES ANYWAY. ;_;

I do not own Hetalia or its characters (as so many others have said, if I did, there would be a lot more Spamano. Even though it's totally already canon. Hello.)

**WARNING FOR CHAPTER:** Lovi's mouth is dirty. Italian and dirty. Just to let you know~

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><p>Seeing him up on that stage, (glistening with sweat under the bright lights, familiar fingers stroking almost tenderly over the worn strings of his guitar, voice rough and beautiful as it harmonizes with the Eyebrow bastard's, nearly dripping with sex and confidence) is the only time he is not <em>my<em> Spaniard. He is not Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the man who sang me Spanish love songs outside my window, the man who found a box of abandoned baby turtles and nursed them back to health, the man who I've often come home to our shared apartment to find sprawled across the couch with our tiny, orange spitfire of a kitten curled up, purring, on his chest. He is Antonio F. Carr, guitarist/backup vocals for the band Warlock and the Bad Touch Trio, one of the most amazing 22-year-old guitarists history has ever seen, international Spanish heartthrob, recognized world-wide for his fine ass almost as often as for his amazing musicality. He's beautiful, but untouchable- and yet not totally, as I catch a glimpse of _my_ Antonio when he shoots Gilbert a wide, goofy grin in the middle of a song. My traitorous heart flutters at the first glimpse of _him_, not just a moving image of him on a screen, for the first time in nearly a year, and as their set comes to a close, I shove my way through the screaming crowd toward the backstage.

_-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-_

Actually getting backstage is an unexpectedly difficult task; the damn maple bastard had apparently given me a pass from a past show, so the muscle-brained bodyguard refuses to move from blocking my path toward the familiar head of slightly curly brown hair I can just barely make out. "I'm sorry, _sir_, but I can't let you pass. I have strict instructions from my boss not to let anyone-" I cut him off, fuming.

"Do you even know who I am, bastardo? Vaffenculo! Fili di cagna! Stronzo! Figlio di puttana-!" In the midst of my rant, I hear a familiar, joyous exclamation of my name, and I just barely have time to turn around before I'm being lifted up into strong arms and spun around. My arms instinctually wrap around my captor's neck as I simultaneously start cursing him out, threatening violence. He sets me down quickly, but pulls me into a deep kiss before I can catch my breath; I melt against him willingly, my fingers locking in his hair to keep him close. He's murmuring happily against my lips, his arms firmly around my waist, and my again-traitorous heart beats wildly in my chest as his voice reaches my ears.

"Lovi…mi querido…I am so, so glad you came…missed you so much…" I feel my face fill with heat, and a small smile pulls at my mouth unconsciously at his joy. Running my fingers through his slightly damp hair gently, words flow from me before my brain has time to filter the thoughts.

"Of course I came, you damn idiota. As if I would miss one of your concerts when you're in town... Er, I-I mean, Matt was going to drag me anyways, so I figured I'd save him the trouble..." My blush increases tenfold as he chuckles warmly, leaning down to kiss me again sweetly.

"I'm glad you missed me too, Lovino. I don't think I could have gone a single moment longer without seeing you~." I whack him upside the head gently, scowling as he merely laughs, hugging me closer for a moment before jolting slightly, his eyes brightening. "Oh! What did you think of the concert, querido?" My cheeks heat, and I look away quickly, trying to disguise the fact that I was flustered behind nonchalance.

"Meh. I've seen better. I'm just glad I didn't have to pay for the ticket- it would have been a waste of mone-_iiee_!" I give a (very manly) yelp of surprise as I'm suddenly airborn, quickly latching onto Antonio's neck as he gets me comfortable in his arms bridal-style; though he's attempting to act oblivious to my furious glare, his wide smirk speaks otherwise, and I pinch his ear. "_Bastardo_, what the hell was that for?" The look he sends me -full of heat and desire, scorching me from the inside-out, leaving me slightly breathless from its intensity- is enough to quiet my complaints, and he gives me a single, deep kiss before replying.

"We are going back to my hotel this second, and we are locking ourselves in my room, and we are not leaving that bed until the absolute last second before tomorrow's concert. _Entiendes?_" My face floods with heat, and I nod silently, shivering at the devilish smirk he gives me in response. "_Bueno~_ but first!" In a sudden-but-expected moodswing, he spins around to give the bastard of a security guard (who had just been standing awkwardly by us, unsure how to handle the situation) a blithe smile. "Excuse me, Quentin~? I would like for you to meet my boyfriend, Lovino Vargas. I should hope in the future that you would never be so silly as to prevent him from coming backstage again, si?" The man, who was probably twice Antonio's weight in pure muscle, pales and nods rapidly at the dangerous note in my Spaniard's carefree voice, stumbling out a 'yessir' before we spin back in the other direction and exit the backstage area, making a quick-but-awkward stop in the band's dressing room (that was a position I never wanted to see either the Eyebrow bastard or French pervert in, and I don't want to think about why that half-naked girl was hiding behind the couch) before catching a taxi to the band's hotel.

Needless to say, Antonio had a slight limp and a goofy grin up on that stage during the following night's concert, and I could only grin with satisfaction at seeing _my_ Spaniard instead of the manufactured image he'd become.

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><p>AN Well, there you have it! Please let me know how you liked the chapter- click the spiffy blue box right below this! V V V

As always, with love-

~Spain


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